


What We Do To Survive

by greenwillow



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fuck Or Die, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:35:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27532360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenwillow/pseuds/greenwillow
Summary: Kink meme fill: McCreary forces Murphy to rape Raven or he'll kill her.
Relationships: John Murphy/Raven Reyes
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5
Collections: The 100 Kinkmeme Flash Round 2019





	What We Do To Survive

**Author's Note:**

> The 100 Kink Meme fill: McCreary makes Murphy rape Raven or else he'll kill her. So basically Murphy raping Raven in the gentlest way possible while still being rough enough to appease McCreary.

“Take off her shirt.”

“What?”

“You heard me,” McCreary growled. “Her shirt. Take it off.”

John met Raven’s eyes. They were as full of pain and anger as his own. There was no way he was going to let her die. And there was no way he could do this…could he?

He’d done terrible things in his life. He'd taken lives. He’d lied and fucked and burned the world around him. And the woman in front of him—he’d shot her, destroyed her life, caused her indescribable pain and suffering.

And now he had to rape her. He had to rape her to save her life.

Raven’s breathing was low, measured. Her eyes moved between his own and McCreary’s, the desperation in them reminding him of a caged animal. She was tied to a chair, hands bound behind her back, her chest glistening with sweat. 

She raised her chin in the air, and he could see she was trying to keep from trembling.

“Do it.” Her voice was rough and raw.

He could barely see McCreary in the corner of his vision. The older man had taken a seat, his gun still aimed right at Raven’s head.

John took a step forward, and knelt on the floor in front of her chair.

Raven shuddered.

He bit his lip so hard he tasted metal. He reached for her shirt. It felt softer than he’d expected, the threadbare fabric so light between his fingers that he could barely tell he was lifting it.

There was no way to get the shirt off with her hands tied behind her back.

Raven was staring down at him tearfully, angry. He couldn't hold her gaze, there was no way he would be able to do this if he had to look her in the eyes.

“Use this,” McCreary grunted, kicking something across the floor towards him.

It was a pocket knife. The blade was dull. John accidentally jabbed it into his own hand as he tried to tear through the fabric.

The pain surprised him. He stared for a moment, the blood smeared across his palm, soaking into her shirt.

“Don’t have all day,” McCreary grunted from behind him, shifting in his seat.

John dared to meet Raven’s eyes for a moment, and saw a flicker of softness behind the anger.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, and tore her shirt apart, exposing the black bra underneath.

Her body looked so frail. She seemed smaller somehow when he was this close to her. Maybe it was just the fact that the room around them felt huge. Her breasts heaved with each ragged breath despite her attempts to keep calm.

He could see the faint scars on her torso from when she’d been tortured in that grounder village—Bellamy had told him all about it on the ring. He couldn’t believe she’d endured her injury, then Finn’s loss, and then that. She was strong, stronger than all of them, why did it have to be this way? If there was a God, he had made her suffer more than the rest of them. And she still hadn’t broken. This wouldn't break her either. He could tell himself that.

“Now the pants.”

John hesitated, his fingers hovering over her waist. Raven was still staring at McCreary, defiant and silent.

He felt the soft warmth of her skin as he pressed his thumb into the button to loose it. His fingers were so rough. He tried to be gentle, but she winced as he pulled the pants around her hips.

“Fuck. Raven. I’m so—“

“Shut up,” she croaked. “Just get it over with.”

His vision was clouded for the briefest moment, then he swallowed and focused, lifing her ass to slide the pants off.

Raven was left in a pair of grey cotton briefs and a black bra. John waited, still on his knees, for McCreary’s next command.

“The bra.”

“No,” Murphy shot back over his shoulder, gripping the legs of the chair. His knuckles, dry and cracked, were bleeding. He gripped harder. The blood swelled.

“The fuck did you just say?” McCreary leaned forward.

“Please, just—it’s cold in here.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. Do it. I’m not going to wait forever. If you don’t fuck her properly, I’m going to kill her. That means tits out. That means you come.”

“Can you at least untie her?”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” McCreary asked, toying with the weapon in his hands. “Out of the chair, girl. And up against the wall over there. I’ll have a better view.”

John cut the rope that bound Raven to the cold metal chair and helped her to her feet. She was shaking. So was he.

He backed her into the wall, being careful not to step on her bare feet with his boots. Her arms were still pinned awkwardly behind her. He made sure she kept her balance.

Hands on her waist, he met her eyes and for a moment it was almost like they were alone.

Her eyes were dull, still tearful, but resigned. Not angry. Defeated. That hurt to see.

She seemed to realize what he was thinking, and that almost broke him. 

"Raven-"

“It’s ok,” she whispered, and kissed him gently. “It’s ok.”

The feel of her soft mouth on his sent his cock twitching. Loathing what that did to him but unable to turn back now, he hungrily kissed her back. He shifted his position slightly, trying his best to block McCreary’s view without being too obvious.

“Bra,” McCreary barked again, and this time John listened. He found the clasp and easily unhooked it, the garment falling between their bodies, still caught on her arms. Her nipples were hard, from the chill in the room or arousal, he didn’t know.

It was then that his body took over completely. He hated himself for it, but he couldn’t stop. He could barely hear the machine hum in the background, McCreary unbuckling his pants. He focused on the pulse of his desire, Raven’s heartbeat and his own.

He could feel how wet she was before McCreary ordered him to pull her underwear down. The cotton between her legs was soaked. She was crying again, he could taste the salt of her tears mingled with the sweat and the blood.

“Now,” McCreary muttered. “Fuck her already.”

When he entered her, he almost forgot where they were. She felt so fucking good.

He hated himself.

Despite her tears, when he fondled her breasts she shuddered with pleasure. When he cupped her ass and thrust harder and faster, her walls tightened around him and she moaned. When he came, not too quickly to satisfy McCreary or his own conscience, he gasped a sigh of relief and leaned his forehead against hers.

She wouldn’t look him in the eye. Maybe she never would again, he thought, as he sank to the ground, pants still undone. He didn’t deserve her to. He didn’t deserve to live.

He’d told himself he was doing this to save her life. But how much of that was true, and what part of him was just doing what he’d always wanted to?

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry this took me FOREVER to post to ao3! This was the only fill from this round that I actually finished so I figured I should finally share it here.


End file.
